Primal Pursuit

“You’re sick, Davian. You know that? A depraved fuck.” I spit the words at him.

He walks over and his shiny shoes appear, his breath warm against my head. “Yeah, but you’re the one who let me fucking shove toys in you. You stripped naked in front of a man you don’t know, and you’re the one who won’t say her safe word, who let the depraved fuck tie her down and who just came on her own. So, tell me, who’s the most depraved one here? The monster or the rabbit twisted enough to allow the monster to do this to her?”

He’s the worst. And I want every last drop of depravity he has, and he knows it.

I’m lost in that good pain of the tattoo gun that brings everything into sharp, addictive pleasure and the maelstrom of the vibrations that go up and down, that lead me to the edge and back over and over, until I don’t know anything but a vibrant sea of sensation.

It might be taking five seconds or five hours but when the cool wash of the green soap flows over my skin, the vibrator is jacked right up and I come so violently thatpleasure blooms and explodes from every pore, and my pussy clamps down so hard.

The vibrator is rudely pulled from me, and that action sets off another storm, only to be replaced by four fingers that invade, four fingers I clamp on as I keep rolling through endless ecstasy.

Slowly I come down, and someone is keening out a moan, half words slurring the air. The fingers in me rock, the butt plug being plucked and pushed back in over and over until I shudder into a heap. The moaning turns to soft crying, and there’s another voice trickling in. It’s like a feather touch of soothing on my senses, and as other fingers press something on and around the tattoo, the voice becomes clearer.

“Shh, it’s okay, Rabbit. You’re good. You’re here with me, and you look like a fucking goddess.” Davian’s voice is the thing I hook into and hold close. My anchor. My nemesis. The thing I want. The thing I hate. The man I need.

“There’s second skin and a bandage over the top,” Jackson’s voice slips through. “The bandage can come off in a day or two, but because of the type of ink, the second skin should stay on…”

I tune out, and it hits me like I’m being rocked against a beach. I’m the one crying. Me. It’s gentle tears. Slow. Delicate. It’s like my body weeps from exhaustion.

Davian is talking over Jackson, over me, words of support, of caring, bathing me with a sense of calm.

He unstraps me and pulls me up to my feet, helping me into my dress before draping the faux fur jacket over my shoulders.

Dropping his mouth to mine, he kisses me slowly and gently, nipping a little before he pulls away. “Good fucking rabbit. Time to go. Can you walk?”

I nod.

Everything is a blur of shapes, and he wipes my eyes, the tattoo room coming into focus. But I can’t lift my head, and Davian tucks me under his arm, his bag by his side. Walking is weird until I realize the plug’s still in me. He left it there. On purpose.

Oh, God. He’s not done yet.

“Come on,” he says, pulling me under the circle of his arm.

We go out the door and walk to a building not too far away, and I’m floating in pain and sweetness and feeling so, so good I barely notice the stairs, barely take in the utilitarian apartment we’re in.

Davian puts his bag down and turns to me. “No looking at your new art, Rabbit, promise. Not until I’m there.”

“Davian…”

“Good enough. My name is your word of promise.” He pushes the coat from me and shucks off his jacket. I’m mesmerized by his beauty, that sensuous mouth, the curl of dark bronze hair, and that mischievous glint in his green irises.

He undoes his tie and takes me by the hand into the bedroom. The walls are white, the space neat and clean, and the bed is draped in ivory silk. There are no drapes at the windows, and I see the city’s twinkling lights through them.

Davian turns, his eyes never leaving mine as he slipsthe straps of my dress down, the fabric pooling around my feet. I’m lost in the depths of his eyes, how he looks at me like he adores me. His rough fingers delicately move my hair aside. His touch is electric, the heat from his fingertips making my skin tingle.

“I need you to sit on my face, Rabbit,” he murmurs. “Give me your cunt.”

For a moment, I stand there, frozen. But he pulls me with him as he gets on the bed, urging me up so my pussy is over his face.

With my palms flat against the headboard, he peers up at me from between my thighs. “Try to kill me if you can.”

He’s so fucking twisted.

I shiver as he comes up, tongue lapping at me. Soft. Velvet. Leisurely strokes. A massive shudder passes through me as his hands wind about my thighs, yanking me down hard on his face. His nose pushes against my clit as he laps away, and I can’t help but move, rocking into him, gently at first, but as he moves me so he can lick up to my clit, to draw it into his mouth to bite down a little, I shriek with the sheer, rough and tumble pleasure.

It’s the kind of no-holds-barred thing. It’s raw. Vital. Alive.

He pushes his tongue up into me and fucks me with that, using one hand to work the plug, and I quiver again, craning my head back, drowning in pleasure. His mouth is hot and wet, tasting me, devouring me, and my lower lip catches between my teeth to stifle the moans he’s forcing out of me.